For Now
by Alfsigesey
Summary: Requested Rosita/Abe one-shot, the day after the cocktail party in s05e13. Rosita has an uncomfortable chat with her new boss, Pete, who finally confronts her about the question that apparently all of Alexandria has "That guy? Really?" Fluff. Very much fluff.


**One-shot Rosita/Abe fic, requested.**

* * *

 _No importas, a él ni a nadie._

Rosita flicked the thought away like a fly, annoyed. She let out a weary sigh, she didn't need that kind of negativity in her head. Not this early in the morning.

Abraham was drunk off his ass when, with help from Tara, Rosita poured him into bed the night before. She'd left before he woke up. She wasn't sure why it bothered her, that he was going to wake up with no sign of her living in that little cookie-cutter mansion. She wasn't sure why the image of him cussing his way to consciousness and sitting hunched on the end of that excessively huge mattress made her want to ditch work and go back. Not to say anything. Not to do anything even, just to be there.

"Thanks for agreeing to get here so early," Pete hadn't washed his face, and like Abraham, he'd probably had too much to drink at their little welcoming cocktail party, the night before. His eyes were all bloodshot, and in addition to the crust there was a few twisted eyebrow hairs letting her know that he slept with his face pressed into the pillow.

"I know a doctor's day begins early," she shrugged, "I just always figured it was because there was you know… stuff to do," she trailed off, not wanting to censure her new boss too brutally, right away, before she had all the facts. She felt her lips pinch into a pout, holding back a snide comment.

"We've only got six visits today, and five of them are geriatrics. They won't be awake for hours."

And the last one was Eric, with his broken ankle. There was nothing to be done with him for now, he just had to mend.

Pete stifled a yawn, shuffling over to the sink, he turned on the cold water and finally splashed his face clear. Getting flecks of water on the mirror. Somehow, she felt certain it was going to be her job to clean it up. "It's Deanna's fault, if you wanna blame someone. She's insisted that I give you some triage training…"

 _Deanna? More like Rick._ She'd exchanged a few words with Maggie at the cocktail party the night before. It was pretty clear that Rick already had Deanna by the ear. It made her feel safer, knowing that they was preparing them for every eventuality. "Well, that's smart," Rosita conceded, leaning back against the doorframe, inspecting the little room and their supplies. It was more than she'd seen since the end of the world, but it was still pretty basic, still miles away from the set decorations she'd noticed on medical dramas.

"I dunno how necessary it is," Pete grumbled, "Even if it _does_ come up, the main thing you've always got to remember is to just do every damn thing I say. Can you follow instructions?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Rosita resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "I'm a good little soldier."

"Great. You and I won't have a problem then."

If they did, it wouldn't be from her end. Rosita didn't know how she felt about this guy yet. She knew what he represented to the community. A competent doctor, a genius even, she'd heard a few people call him. He was indispensable and he knew it. Rosita had a little too much experience with men who knew they were indispensable. Whether or not he was the kind of person who would take advantage of their need for him was yet to be seen.

He was firm with her, as he should be. She didn't mind that, didn't mind his insisting that she memorize what each and every tool, medication and procedure he might ever need to use was called. She didn't mind that after all, it _did_ turn out to be her job to clean the office. She didn't even mind the thirty pages of reading he gave her from an anatomy text book. So far, he hadn't done anything to show that he was an asshole, he just wanted her to be perfect as his assistant.

That was what she wanted too.

She did mind that sense of arrogance. She minded that she could still see it going either way with the man. Maybe he'd take his indispensability as license to be a complete bastard. Maybe he'd make demands, use his position to get anything and everything that he wanted.

Then again, maybe he wasn't like that.

Not everyone was looking to exploit the weak.

It's just that she couldn't read him right away and she didn't like that. Abraham though, he was bare and vulnerable the moment she saw him. The man couldn't hide his emotions any more than he could hide the color of his hair from anyone who wasn't blind to begin with. That was why she ran off with him in the first place, because he was telling the truth and she knew it.

At least, he was telling the truth, _as he knew it_. As they both so desperately wanted it.

 _No te queire mami. You're just a piece of ass._

It wasn't her voice telling her this, it was someone else. Someone dead. Someone who didn't matter. She wasn't even entirely sure who the voice belonged to. Maybe it was her first boyfriend, maybe her brother, maybe even an old friend, she didn't know, and she didn't care. Just some dead liar.

There was more to it than that. Sure, sex was a rarer commodity now than before and maybe she and Abraham had been motivated by things like loneliness and lust. But there was mushy stuff too. In all honesty, it was probably the healthiest relationship she'd ever been in.

It was a relationship built on honesty, on mutual respect and trust. She couldn't say that about everyone.

"You take up with Abraham," Pete finally spoke up after thirty minutes of leaving her alone to read and memorize.

"What?" she narrowed her eyes, but kept her tone light and inquiring, pretending like she'd been wrapped up in the text a little too tight to hear him.

He looked like he knew precisely what she was doing, but didn't call her out. "About half a dozen others saw you with him at Deanna's little welcoming party last night… oh c'mon, there's only a few people left on the earth to gossip about. The two of you met on the outside."

Rosita shrugged, "Not sure why it matters," she lied. It mattered because to those safely inside these walls it might look like they hadn't 'chosen' each other, the way that Pete and his wife did, the way that people chose each other back when the world was crammed with options.

"I guess it doesn't," Pete mirrored her shrug, leaning back in his desk chair until it creaked. "Even before the world ended though, you've got to admit, it's not something you see every day. You find yourself wondering if the guy's rich, if the girl's got a complex," he grinned at Rosita's reddening cheeks, as if daring her to snap.

If that was his aim, it wasn't going to work. She was used to it. Even before the apocalypse she was used to it. "You know, I didn't have a real boyfriend until I left high school?" She sized Pete up after she spoke, still trying to work out what his deal was.

Maybe this was the _only_ way that he abused how necessary he was to the community. Maybe he thought it gave him license to say what he wanted, to be as honest as he wanted. Everyone would just allow it, because one day, they might need him to save their life. He wanted something to gossip about? Fine. Rosita didn't care.

He furrowed his brow, hiding a mean grin and looking her over with hard, judgmental eyes.

"I was eighteen. He was thirty-six," she batted her eyes. "It was a huge mistake," she laughed, "Like. A massive mistake," she shut the textbook with a heavy snap, giving up on being able to focus right now, not while Pete was showing his true colors.

 _Is this the price to figuring him out? Telling him some story about myself?_ It couldn't hurt, there was nothing he could do with this information besides judge her. "He was an asshole and I didn't really let him get away with it, like he wanted. We were a match made in hell. But, it was my mistake to make. That's what a lot of people didn't really get."

Pete nodded more out of habit than because he agreed, in a high voice he said, "I can respect that," like it was his respect she wanted. "In any case, no one to look out for you now, right? At least, not until you walked in these walls."

So, that's what he was wondering about. In just looking at her and Abraham he'd assumed it was a relationship of convenience, of survival. That she relied on him. Now that she didn't have to, he wanted to know why she didn't take the chance to leave.

He didn't get it, and she didn't want to explain it to him. Inside Alexandria wasn't perfect either, but even if it was, even if she somehow knew, unequivocally that she would be safe, forever, she still wanted to be there with him.

And she didn't have to explain that to anyone.

* * *

Rosita let herself wonder why Pete was in such a hurry to get back home. Why not sleep in and give her this little tour of the office later in the day? It was probably some personal, domestic reason and that made her sigh. Some part of her still couldn't believe that she once again lived in a world where people had personal, domestic reasons for reorienting their day, rather than reasons that hinged on basic survival.

Like eating. She realized she was starving and as a knee jerk reaction tried to ignore it. Her body was so used to being put off these days, told to just wait until it was really needed. Now though? There was no reason to wait.

The house was empty. It didn't surprise her, though. Most everyone had taken to the new town in an exploratory way. Now that they were getting used to this place, they were more comfortable slithering outside to be in the sun. Rosita typically only found people around when it was early in the morning, or late at night.

Abraham still wasn't back from work, so she started on boiling some water, pulling out a bag of dried pasta. _Domestic_. This was so weird. She couldn't get past the simple, bizarre nature of doing something so normal as making food on a stove, in a kitchen, inside of a house that was apparently hers, while waiting for her man to get home from work. Those days were dead, weren't they?

 _Maybe we're just playing house. Go ahead and enjoy it, but keep a blade close. It's going to be real sometime. Why not this time?_

They had a nice flat screen on the wall. There was a small library of movies. Maybe they could watch one. Rosita laughed out-loud as the water started to boil. She cut open the bag of pasta and poured in a few cups, a few giggles still escaping every few minutes. By the time the pot was covered and it was time to wait for it to cook, she was squeezing tears out of the corners of both eyes, stomach hurt from trying to suppress her laughter, " _Ahh, shit_." She could get used to this. Underneath all of it, she still felt like a soldier.

All the same, it was fun to go along with it, fun to live in a dream. Play house. Ahh shit and smile big. Maybe they could make it last long enough to grow stronger, expand into a real society again. Maybe that screwed-up pipe dream that Eugene had given them with DC wasn't such a fantasy. It might take longer, it might not be as clean or as Hollywood as what he'd promised—what he'd lied to them about, but it could be their new beginning.

 _Or not._

Either way, she had to cherish this while it was here. If it would stick, then that was wonderful, if it wouldn't, all the more reason to enjoy it while it lasted.

A bang and a heavy booted footstep from the front door told her that Abraham was finally back. She'd finished dinner and gone ahead to eat without him, lazily turning at the pages of an old book without reading more than a few words every minute. Her mind was elsewhere, her eyes kept circling back to the food. She'd probably made too much, but then again, Abraham might be starving after a full day of physical labor.

Leaning back in her chair and peering through the doorway, she barely saw his boot disappear as he headed straight upstairs, she guessed, for a shower, now that those were regulation. Some part of her worried that he didn't take a moment to clear the house, but another part of her felt renewed relief that they were finally somewhere that clearing a house every time you came back to it wasn't actually necessary.

Sure enough, the shower started going, Rosita finished up the last of what she could and served up a plate for Abraham when he got out of the shower. She let herself fall onto the couch, finally able to focus on getting into the book she was reading. She put her feet up, leaned back. Realized she didn't like her back facing the window and switched to the other side, giving herself a better vantage point of the whole room, and the staircase leading to the bedrooms upstairs.

Almost, she started to get interested in her book, then Abraham appeared at the top of the steps and froze. She looked up, wondering what had given him pause with a little leftover panic from their time on the road. Her hand even flinched towards her knife. But he was staring at her, brow a little low, mustache hiding a mouth that she suspected might be hanging open just a little.

"Everything… alright?" she frowned at the pensive expression on his face.

"Uh, yeah," he shook himself and locked his jaw, taking the first few steps gradually, still looking at her with questioning eyes. "Just, quite the sight, brings a little bit of a flutter to a hard bastard's heart, that's all."

Rolling her eyes, Rosita tried not to smile, "What does?" but she knew.

"Fine lookin' woman all curled up with a good book—"

"—Half-decent book," she corrected him.

"Dinner waiting," he went on, "And I found your dress from last night rumpled in the sheets. That brought me great joy, I must say."

She'd forgotten. She'd been too tired to change properly. For the first time since it happened she felt alright to fall asleep without her boots on, without a knife and a gun at the ready. She'd stripped off that confining dress and curled up next to her stupidly drunk man, like the world wasn't a dangerous hellhole. It'd been nice. And not something she felt like she could make a habit yet. "You liked finding my dirty laundry," she made a face at Abraham.

"Sure did," he made a beeline for the meal she'd left for him in the kitchen, and after a few minutes of chiming plates and silverware from the kitchen, sat down heavily beside her on the couch, setting his food on the coffee table, along with a beer.

She'd folded up her legs to give him a little more room, but the second his hands were free, he gently lifted her ankles back up to rest in his lap. For a few minutes at least, she stopped reading again, and just breathed deep and enjoyed this simple, _bizarre_ moment. Abraham ate his dinner in silence, she watched and let her mind drift to things like work and how to improve the community, all the while appreciating this. _Domestic_. "What a life," she laughed.

"Hm?" He took a swig of beer, face already ruddy, though he hadn't had more than a mouthful of alcohol.

"It's just really nice. To be here."

He nodded, agreeing, though he couldn't quite get rid of his hundred yard gaze. Probably, she couldn't either. For a moment though, she could just pretend to be normal.

Abraham, it seemed, wasn't there with her in heaven. He took another swig, drinking a little fast, giving away his nerves as he couldn't met her eyes, though words clearly ached to escape from him. Finally he sighed, "You wanna be here, don't you?"

"Well… yeah," she blinked and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that even a question? The other option is out with the corpses—"

"Nah, I don't mean _here_ ," he gestured around the room, emphasis on the window looking out into their little community, "I mean… here," his hands came to rest on her ankles, resting in his lap. "I mean… with me. You _want_ that."

Like two magnets coming together, it finally made sense. His distance and his odd silence. She'd just taken it for adjustment, and last night, when he had a few drinks in him it had seemed to melt away, but now she got it. The man always seemed so confident and in control, it was easy for her to forget that underneath he was just as damaged as everyone else who was left. His bravado was good, it convinced even himself sometimes. Convinced her, more often than not. But Abraham was scared. He was living in the end of days and he was in no kind of denial about it. He had the same dark thoughts that anyone in his position would. Once you let in the bad, more tends to flood in until there are hundreds of voices wishing you dead, screaming at you, every foul thing.

Rosita had heard them too. _No importas, a él ni a nadie._ _You'll all die screaming and betrayed._ She'd come to recognize the look in someone's eye when they gave their demons ground. Abraham had that look, but he also had more control than others. He knew they were lying assholes. He tried to kick them out. He didn't quite manage it every time, about every lie.

"Really?" she rolled her eyes, "You thought I was going to leave you once we got settled, didn't you?" she stared right at him boldly, but he was stubbornly looking forward, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"It's not so much that I thought it," he started, but there was already a note of secession in his tone. He was sheepish, now that she called him out exactly how he needed to be called out. "It's more that, I considered it was a _choice_ you might potentially make, after weighing your new found options."

"Self-deprecating _ass_ ," she scoffed, "give both of us a little more credit than that. I am not the kind of person who does something she _doesn't want to do_ , and you are not that repugnant."

"I _am_ a charming fellow, on the whole," he smirked, but it faded fast, "But, to be frank… you are on a different level."

There was no smart comeback for that. She wouldn't have wanted to give one anyway. He's all coiled muscle beside her on the couch, looking at her from under a heavy brow. He takes a would-be casual swig of beer, but it doesn't do anything to dispel the overall vulnerability that's rolling off of him with sweat and heat.

"I don't flatter. You know that. I'm just saying it straight. It's never really going to make sense that you waste your time with a swinging dick like me. But I'll take it."

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me." But she couldn't make light of it. She watched his hands massaging their way up her leg. Then, she slipped out from under him, to scoot forward and plant her lips over his. She took him by surprise, feeling the way he was still half entranced with his hand gliding over her skin. His palms pressed into her back as her lips slanted against his mouth.

It always starts with an instant when he doesn't remember his strength, just for a second he holds her too fast, too hard. There's a careless disregard for her comfort, for just as long as it takes him to slow his breathing, to remember that he's just that big and strong. She doesn't have to remind him, she never had to remind him. He remembers, it just takes a moment for the lust to race through him, dying his eyes black and stealing his breath away. His touch eased up, just as she starts to get warm.

"I was thinking we could watch a movie," she was breathless when she came up for air, "Or we could just go upstairs now."

"All of it. Let's enjoy being like this. For now."


End file.
